


Addorsed

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Vignette, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The Enterprise is taken over.
Relationships: Deanna Troi/Worf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Addorsed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“But what do they want?” Deanna murmurs, probably more to herself than Worf, because she must know that Worf’s well beyond caring about that. All that matters is that they’re _here_ , and they’ve taken over—he and Deanna are bound back-to-back on the floor of Ten Forward, and presumably, the rest of the ship’s in a comparable condition. No one’s come to rescue them. Guinan managed to slip away, but she hasn’t returned. No one has. They’re alone, sitting between two tables, Deanna’s slender figure flush against his massive shoulder blades. He can feel her soft curls tickling him right through his uniform. She’s reported that the rest of the crew seems to be in similar distress, though she hasn’t sensed any casualties. 

Worf doesn’t _care_ that they’re taking prisoners instead of slaughtering their enemies like any honourable warrior. They’re vile thieves that he’s going to absolutely _destroy_ , as soon as he manages to break out of the accursed chains around him. It _looks_ like simple, woven rope, but it’s impossible to break—he’s been straining at it for nearly twenty minutes and it hasn’t shown the slightest sign of strain. Worse, Deanna keeps _squirming_.

He reminds her, “You will not break it,” because if he can’t, she definitely can’t. 

But she huffs, “I’m not trying to. I’m just trying to move it... they’ve got it across my breasts, and it’s chafing—ah!” She cuts off in a sharp gasp, then catches her breath again and resumes wriggling against him. It’s _torture_. Every one of her little gasps and groans echoes through the empty hall, and Worf can _feel_ every rolling movement that prompts it. She arches back, her head digging into his shoulder, her rear pushing against his backside, and he can feel her trim arms rubbing against his elbows. She seriously needs her to stop writhing and moaning like a targ in heat. 

But he can’t think of any way to phrase it properly, so instead he just sits quietly and bears Deanna’s infernal company. He likes her well enough. Maybe a little _too much_. But when he’d idly fantasized about tying her up in his off hours, he’d pictured it a lot more fulfilling than this. For one, he wasn’t tied too. At least, not at the same time. The _proper_ way to do it would be to take turns being master and prey. It’s infuriating seeing her like this and being stuck himself. 

At least he can’t _actually_ see her. If he could, he’d be done for. He’s already picturing the ropes crisscrossing across her supple chest, digging into her full bosoms, grinding against her pert—

Worf sucks in a breath and growls, forcing himself to stop it. He can’t think about that. He needs to formulate a plan. It can’t end like this. But then Deanna tries bouncing up and down, panting as she tries to reposition herself, which only drags her curvaceous body along the broad expanse of his back. She’s so infernally _distracting_.

She stills suddenly, breathing, “They’re coming.” She must sense it. Her empathic powers and incredible intelligence could be a great asset, if Worf could only concentrate. His own discipline is lacking. 

The doors of Ten Forward whisk open, and one of the fuchsia-skinned aliens struts inside, grinning maniacally. He holds no weapon, only another length of rope around his arm. They first took over by flooding the ship with some kind of anesthetizing gas, and when Worf woke up, his pleasant dinner with the counselor was ruined.

The alien marches over towards Guinan’s bar, only for Worf to snap, “Coward!”

The alien stops. It turns to face them. It makes a series of clicking noises that the computer translates to, “Excuse me?”

“What are you planning?” Worf snarls. “Whatever it is, you accomplish it without honour! A true warrior would release me and face its opposition with pride!”

The alien blinks several times at him. Then it garbles, “We have no need to fight you. The plan is already in motion.”

While Worf bears his teeth, Deanna probes, “What plan?”

The alien makes a terrible shrieking noise that might be its idea of a laugh. It exuberantly informs them, “We have already implanted the virus that will wipe all memory of chocolate from your computer’s database. Soon, we will infect all the Federation, and no one shall know the sinful taste of chocolate but the true believers of the Cocoa Goddess!”

Deanna gasps. Worf goes cold with the realization. They’re planning to wipe out chocolate. _That’s Deanna’s favourite._

He can’t let that happen. He can already feel her trembling in misery. The enormity of her distress fills him with rippling anger, and in one final serge of true Klingon strength, Worf _roars_ and jerks his arms out, ripping the ropes to shreds. The alien reels back in sheer surprise. 

Worf charges it, ready to retake the ship and protect his precious counselor’s sweet tooth at all costs.


End file.
